Just Want to Be Mad for Awhile
by Esther-Channah
Summary: Oracle has a nocturnal visitor following the events of Catwoman 35. Chapter 2: Same story, different POV. SLIGHTLY MODIFIED. Oh, and it's now officially AU,since DC took things in a different direction...
1. Barbara

Disclaimer #1: DC owns the characters. I make reference to certain details culled from the following Trade Paperbacks: Batman: No Man's Land Volume 2, and Nightwing: A Darker Shade of Justice, and recent events from "War Games" and _Birds of Prey_. There is no intent to infringe on DC's copyright. The lyrics below are from _I Just Wanna Be Mad_ by Kelly Lovelace and Lee Thomas Miller. Recorded by Terri Clark from her CD _Pain To Kill_ copyright 2003 by Universal. Used without permission.

Disclaimer #2: I'm typing this story following the events of _Catwoman #35_. It may be out of sync with continuity as soon as the next installment of War Games hits the stands. If it is, please consider this as Elseworlds, and enjoy!

A/N: If Babs can use "Curtains 98" as her operating system in DC canon, she can use "Norbert" antivirus in this fic.

**Just Want to Be Mad for a While**

_I'll never leave, I'll never stray  
My love for you will never change  
But I ain't ready to make up or get around to that  
I think I'm right I think you're wrong  
I'll probably give in before long  
Please don't make me smile  
I just want to be mad for awhile_

_Kelly Lovelace & Lee Thomas Miller_

I figured Dick would have told him about the gas regurgitants in the steam tunnel, the seismic alerts, and the laser traps. No big deal. Every time Norbert releases a new software antivirus, I take that as an indicator that it's time to review and upgrade my other defenses. I hate surprises. I hate guests who stop by unannounced—even if they're friends. I especially hate friends who figuratively and unexpectedly stab me in the back while I'm literally talking to them, then blow me off like it's nothing, and _then_ stop by unannounced.

Funny, really. I designed my home security system with him in mind. Just this once, I wish it hadn't worked. It's been a long night, and a longer day. I was irritable enough when my alert system started blaring in my ear at 110 decibels barely an hour after I'd finally tried to grab some shuteye. Back when I was Batgirl, I mastered the art of getting changed quickly. Even now, with a wheelchair, I'm still dressed in under two minutes. With my escrima tucked into the pockets of my cardigan, I haul myself into my work area.

I'd yell at him—except that the sight of him standing immobile, cocooned from shoulders to ankles in reinforced Securus, a disgusted grimace on his face, _almost_ makes me burst out laughing. How do you like that? I actually _do_ have a system even Batman can't breach! Of course, there's the small matter of my _computer_ systems... Remembering that, I don't feel like laughing anymore.

"What do _you _want?" I ask him. Right now, the synthetic voder that I use to voice my Oracle persona exhibits more warmth. Without giving him a chance to reply, I repeat the last thing I said to him this afternoon, before he severed his link with me. "You stole my system from me, Bruce." Now, reminded of that fact, curiosity gets the better of me. "How did you do it?"

He struggles against the fabric restraints. Good luck. That's the same stuff they make seatbelts out of, augmented to make it more cut-resistant than usual. It'll hold him for a while. Once he figures that out, he turns his head away. "There was an... attachment... to a batch of file backups I sent to you after the No Man's Land ended. Something I had created. Norbert is a subsidiary of Wayne Industries. If their software could detect my program, I would have known first."

G-d, no wonder he's embarrassed. I can't believe this. "You sent me a virus?" At this point, I think _I_ might be able to snap the Securus. "_You_ infected _my _systems? I lean forward, and feel the tips of my escrima sticks poke gently into my mid-section. Normally I wouldn't dream of laying into a man when he can't defend himself, but this _is_ Bruce we're talking about. If he could defend himself, I'd be an idiot to attack him. Then my eidetic memory recalls something.

"The 'extra attachment', Bruce? Would that, by any chance have been appended to those criminal records you salvaged off of the bat-computer in the period from just before the quake to the point when you went off to Washington? The ones you asked me to route to GCPD and the DA's office after changing the protocols so that they looked like they were coming from more _official_ channels?"

Not answering is also an answer. Before I know it, the sticks are in my hands.

"How could you do this to me?" Bad enough that Brainiac went through my system to possess me, not so long ago. That I can _almost_ take in stride. He's a villain. I'm against him. In general, villains are... well... hostile. Ergo, if they have the capacity to do so, they _will_ indulge in mind-control and manipulation when it suits their purposes. Par for the course, and if I can't take the heat I've got no business in the kitchen. But Bruce... _Bruce abused my trust in him to give him the means to take over not only **my** systems, but also use them as his backdoor into the GCPD's. _Much as I'm trying not to draw parallels, they're staring me in the face.

And what scares me, what absolutely terrifies me, is that Bruce's original War Games plan, in a nutshell, was to have all organized crime in this city answering to him. In other words, he would become, for all intents and purposes, an uber-crimelord. And, no matter how much he insists that the scenario was only meant to be implemented as a last resort, how did he plan to take over the mob and stick to his no-killing policy? And did he really think he could stroll through a sewer and come out smelling like a rose?

What he just did to me was worse than what Brainiac did. I raise the sticks and wheel closer. It's worse than what he did during the No Man's Land, when he took on a new Batgirl without telling me. (Helena even told me later, that one of the reasons he fired her was that he'd ordered her to steer all fighting away from the Clocktower. Great move, Bruce. How long did you really think it would be, before I found out? Helena didn't know why—still doesn't, actually. Oh, she's figured out that he didn't want me to see her in costume, but I haven't clued her in yet as to why. I'm still not ready to tell her that seeing her in that getup—in a different getup from the one I wore, yes, but using the name _I_ originated—_hurt_.) Back then, I called him, he came, and we had it out. Well, actually, I vented, and he just stood there.

Is that why he's here, now? So I can throw another tantrum, and things can go back to the way they were? Nice try. About the only parallel I can see, here, is that in each case, I know I'm right to be furious. But that time with Helena... that time with Helena, the truth is, that if he had contacted me right away, said something like "_Barbara, I've found out who was doing the tagging you were wondering about. While I was gone, somebody stepped into the power vacuum. Right now, she's an asset and I can use her, but I thought you should be aware: She's calling herself 'Batgirl',_" Yes, I still would have been angry. Yes! It still would have hurt. But I would have understood. I remember that confrontation. And I remember... what he asked of me, next. And what I answered.

I lower the sticks, still gripping them. If I need 'em, I've got 'em. "I was wrong," I say in a voice so brittle I barely recognize it as mine.

He looks puzzled at the apparent nonsequitor. Right. He may be able to read body language, but my thoughts are still mine. At least there's _one_ difference between him and Brainiac.

"A long time ago," I explain, "I said to you: 'I've always trusted you, and you know I always will'. I was wrong." I have to keep my voice steady. If I start yelling, he'll assume I'm just upset, and don't mean what I'm saying. I _am_ upset, but I _do _mean it. If he took what I said then to mean that no matter what he did, I'd still be in his corner, he's about to find out just how wrong he was.

He seems to shrink a bit, although it could be that he's just trying to worm his way out of the restraining bands. "Barbara," he says, and for the first time in hours, the gravel is out of his voice. I close my eyes. No. No, damn it! Do NOT do this to me, now. Don't lower your defenses and get me to _empathize_ with you.

"How could you do this to me?" And this time, the hurt comes through loud and clear. "If this is how you treat your friends, I think I could almost switch sides." _Are _we even friends at this point?

"You don't mean that."

"You're right. I don't. Because unlike you, I don't see myself as the shadow leader of a troop of organized killers!" Oh, good one Babs. You don't even need the sticks to beat him.

"It... it wasn't supposed to be like that."

"Just what _was_ it supposed to be like? Benevolent dictatorship? The mobsters running Gotham and you running the mobsters?" I'm letting my temper get away from me. Take a breath, Babs. "Didn't you learn _anything_ during No Man's Land? You have to keep your allies in the loop." I'm shouting. "Fighting fire with fire only makes the blaze brighter—get a hose, for crying out loud! Don't ally yourself with people who..." I'm about to say 'should be serving time in Blackgate', but then I remember my current pet-project, Savant, and amend that last to "...people who consider a gun to be a logical and effective answer to most of their petty personal problems."

"Orpheus is dead."

"What?" This is bad. Even furious as I am, I can see that. Orpheus is... was... the lynchpin in this whole scenario.

"I'd sent him a message to meet me on the Hill. Black Mask intercepted it. When I arrived, he and Zeiss were waiting for me."

Only now do I notice that some of the straps around his arms have bloodstains along the edges. It looks like they've staunched the flow, anyway. That's good. It means he's probably _not_ going to bleed to death in my work area. Given the earful I gave Dinah, before turning in, she would be totally within her rights to ask me if I was _sure_ he'd been bleeding before he showed up.

"I thought Black Mask was dead," I say automatically.

"So did I. Apparently, when the mob shootings started, he had himself set up in a position to take the greatest possible advantage."

I'm sorry. Too much has happened in the last twenty-four hours. I can't deal with this right now. I can't lower my defenses—at this point I'm too tired to know whether I mean my security devices, or whatever restraint is keeping me from flailing out hysterically with the escrima—turn on my system, and put in overtime for the boss on an instant's notice as if I were the glorified secretary he's been treating me like since this whole thing started.

I shake my head slowly from side to side. "I can't, Bruce. I'm sorry. Not now. Not after what you did."

He looks at me, bewildered. "I need you."

It's hard to tell if the next sound that comes out of my mouth is a laugh or a sob. "You need my _systems_, Bruce. But you don't need _me_. Not really. You proved that, this afternoon. You can handle this whole city all by yourself, isn't that right?" I spin the chair around. "Close the window on your way out." He'll get out of the Securus eventually. He's Batman, after all. And if not, well, maybe I'll invite Selina over for breakfast, and tell her to bring a camera. Ha.

I'm past the living room, and halfway down the hall to my bedroom when he tosses a miniature CD-Rom onto my lap from behind me. I will not let him see how much that startled me, I think, as I wheel around to face him. Not just that he got loose already, but that he snuck up behind me without my noticing.

"Analyze it." He says, quietly. "It will show you how to locate and block my way into your systems." He turns his back on me, shoulders slumping. Poor posture. I've got a mind to tell Alfred on him. "It... will not... happen again."

I'm stunned. That's about as close to a groveling apology as I've ever seen from him. I think back through the years I've known him, the things I've seen him through. Jason. Bane. Cataclysm. No Man's Land. Luthor's attempt to frame him for murder. Athena's attempt to plunge Wayne Enterprises into bankruptcy. His (feeble) attempt to cope with my dad's retirement, for that matter. Does he let himself get sucked into some abyss because _he_ trusts _us_ not to let him rot there? I'm not sure I want that responsibility. But... I've been doing this job for too long. And I know... I know that I can't walk away, not really.

"Go home, Bruce," I say firmly. "Get some sleep. I'll try to do the same." He turns back to me. I _hope_ I'm doing a good job at keeping my face expressionless. "Or don't. Do like you always do and run yourself into the ground. Right now, it really doesn't matter to me." He hesitates for a moment, then nods curtly and starts to sweep off down the hall. "But if you contact me maybe ten hours from now," I project my voice enough so that it carries to him, "I won't terminate the link." Which is more than he deserves after the way he's been acting

He stops for a moment, and half-turns to face me, then turns back toward the living room. Something makes me call after him: "Bruce?" And when he stops, I add quickly, "Just now? I lied. It _does_ matter." And that's the truth.

At the end of the hall, he pauses, just long enough to call back "Good night, Barbara." Then he's gone.

Whoo boy! Part of me still wishes I'd clobbered him with the escrima when I had the chance. Wait a second. Did I just go one on one against Batman... and _win_? 'Good night, Barbara', he said. Notwithstanding what's going on outside, right now, I actually think I'm having one.


	2. Bruce

A/N: Reference here is made to the TPB's mentioned in Chapter 1, as well as to Tower of Babel; Divided We Fall, and No Man's Land, Vol. 3.

It's all unraveling. The more I try to hold it together, the more it comes apart. Taking control of the airwaves was necessary. For the damage to be contained, it is essential that I direct GCPD forces, at least for the short-term. Akins could not accept my proposal. Perhaps, that was not wholly unexpected. Over the course of the last year, I have done little to build a working relationship with the man... but I thought Jim would see things my way. _Irrelevant. Even if he had, what good would it have done? He no longer has the authority to turn his men over to me. But still, he should have understood._

When Akins refused me, I had little option but to bypass him entirely, appeal directly to the officers already facing the... fallout... from a contingency plan, which should... never... have been implemented. Had I not done so, had the majority of the GCPD not willingly fallen into line, the cost would have been immeasurable. But... could I have found a better method of launching my appeal than overriding Barbara's network? I knew when I initiated my link that the action would have consequences. I may have underestimated their severity. Time was of the essence. I do not always have the luxury of explaining my actions. It was necessary to use her systems to interface with GCPD's; therefore I used them. The cost of that action, however, is proving higher than anticipated. Oracle's reaction has been... extreme. Sulking is out of character for her. As much as the time that it would take to discuss matters would best be spent elsewhere, if there is one thing that I have learned from Jim, it is that issues such as these... issues involving trust, cannot be permitted to fester.

_And if she refuses to understand?_ To restore her father's confidence in me, it was necessary to offer him my secret. That worked another time in the past, as well, when mistrust threatened to divide the Justice league. Mistrust I played no small part in fomenting. However, Jim's daughter already knows. I remove the small CD-Rom from my utility belt. A peace offering, of sorts. I would not create a virus without creating a counter for its effects. And if, in order to continue our professional relationship, it is necessary to hamper my effectiveness in some small way, I am prepared to impose this limit.

The Clocktower is dark as I approach. Can she be sleeping? At a time like this? On the other hand, the current situation has now persisted for over twenty-four hours, and I cannot say with certainty how long she had been awake prior. She has been irritable—more so than I would have expected. And although there is information—important information—that I need to relay to her, and soon, perhaps it can wait for morning. What I need to do next, may be best done without her knowing: I hacked my way into her system in secret; I'll remove my access the same way.

From what Dick said, Barbara has mined her habitat with security alerts and traps. Some require voice activation. If she is asleep, I can discount them. The automated defenses include gas, laser beams, and seismic alerts. I suppose I should be grateful that Pettit and his men demonstrated their effectiveness. Because of their blundering, I know better than to attempt to gain entry either via the underground tunnels, or via the roof. Most likely, the window through which I usually enter would be the wisest choice.

As the grapnel finds purchase, and I swing to her windowsill, I try to ignore the stream of pain that runs along my arm and shoulder. Knife-wound. Probably needs stitches, but from what Batgirl said, earlier, I might want to avoid the clinic until Leslie has matters under control. Apart from not needing another confrontation, she has her hands full right now with wounded civilians...

Interesting pattern. During No Man's Land, Jim sent one Batgirl to me with a message telling me—in no uncertain terms—that my help was not required or appreciated. Now, Leslie is sending a second Batgirl to relay what is essentially the same message. Then, too, I was so focused on my goal that I rationalized the use of... questionable means to achieve it. _And today, I hijacked Barbara's systems. That probably wounded her more deeply than accepting an interloper using her old codename. Am I truly surprised at her reaction?_

I'm on the windowsill. The landing was a bit heavier than planned, but no lights have been turned on. Likely she didn't notice. I examine the glass and frame. Yes, she has it wired. I feel one corner of my mouth pull upwards. Should any typical cat burglar attempt to scale the side of this building, break in to _this _apartment, he—or she—will have my deepest sympathies. I cut the wire, and ease the window open cautiously. The sensors in my cowl lenses pinpoint the laser security beams. Like the wiring on the window, they're narrow, almost invisible if you don't know what to look for. It's almost as though she _wants _an intruder to gain entry so that she can teach them the error of their ways. I've seen Barbara angry, I think as I step over the laser beams, taking care not to break them. Maybe Matches Malone could get a friendly warning out on the stree—

The broadloom should _not_ have sunk quite that much when I took that last step. I realize that just as an alarm starts blaring. It almost masks a faint sound—like a vent sliding open. But from where? I can't dodge if I don't know where it's coming from—and the acoustics make it impossible to pinpoint. The room shifts from near absolute darkness to blinding light in a tenth of a second—too fast for the cowl lenses to compensate, and I close my eyes—as something heavy and pliable wraps itself around me, pinning my arms to my sides and forcing my forearms slightly behind my back. Some kind of fabric, I register, as it encircles my legs. I struggle experimentally against it, not committing any real force to the exertion. Strain too much and I'll knock myself over. There's some give to the material, but nowhere near enough. It's probably a polymer of some kind.

I realize that I'm no longer seeing a field of vermillion through my closed eyelids, and that the alarm has stopped. Cautiously, I open my eyes. That... may have been a mistake. Barbara is sitting in front of me. And she does not appear to be in a good mood.

"What do _you_ want?" she snaps.

For one instant, I think about responding as Nightwing might have, just to catch her off-guard. _Right now, I think I want to get out of this mummy-costume if it's not too much trouble._ Is she... trying not to laugh? Maybe this won't be so bad.

"You stole my system from me, Bruce." Oh, yes it will. Fine. If it will clear the air between us, I'll apologize. She'll probably accept it, as long as she believes that that's _all_ I did with her system. As long as she doesn't ask...

"How did you do it?"

_Wonderful_. I struggle against the restraints, trying to enable the miniature circular blade housed in the tip of the middle finger on my left glove. My right still holds the CD-Rom. She watches me, patiently. She can't see what I'm doing, but she can see I'm stuck. And, as far as she knows, I'll stay that way until she decides otherwise. I try shifting position again... the blade is spinning silently, the strands are parting, but so slowly. What _is_ this stuff, anyway?

She's still waiting for an answer. I could lie, but if I'm right, my performance this afternoon has already impacted her trust in me. No. I have to level with her, and hope for the best. Her skills _are_ that essential. Especially now. "There was an... attachment... to a batch of file backups I sent to you after the No Man's Land ended. Something I had created. Norbert is a subsidiary of Wayne Industries. If their software could detect my program, I would have known first."

I don't need Batgirl on hand to 'read' body language. I can tell the precise second when the import of what I've just relayed to her sinks in. "You sent me a virus?_ You_ infected _my _systems?" She bends forward, and I see the outlines of her escrima in her pockets. Does she sleep with them under her pillow? Would I truly be surprised to find out that she does?

The blade should not be taking this long to cut through the bands. Band. It's one continuous piece. Cut it in one spot, and the entire cocoon should fall to the ground. _Fast. Please. _Any second, now, she's going to make the connection I do not wish her to—

"The 'extra attachment', Bruce? Would that, by any chance have been appended to those criminal records you salvaged off of the bat-computer in the period from just before the quake to the point when you went off to Washington? The ones you asked me to route to GCPD and the DA's office after changing the protocols so that they looked like they were coming from more _official_ channels?"

No. Don't ask me to confirm that. I see her pull out the escrima and realize that I already have.

"How could you do this to me?" She demands.

I don't have an answer for her. Not one she wants to hear, at any rate. When I first developed these contingency plans, it occurred to me that I might one day need access to various communication systems, local and otherwise. When the opportunity presented itself, I used the means available. I never planned to implement the takeover, but when it became necessary, I did. _So, if I'm so sure I was right, why didn't I tell Barbara to hack me into GCPD's communications net and onto the airwaves? She's trusted me enough in the past to lend me that sort of assistance, when warranted, with only a token show of resistance. But this time, it would have been more than a token show. I... **know**... this. And the reason that I know this is because... I can't help wondering whether Jim was right. Whether the idea of asking Akins to cede control of the police to me temporarily **was** flawed from the start. The idea of 'Batman-as-Urban-Legend' appears to be a thing of the past. Does that mean that I now have to make my presence known in the most public way possible?_

Barbara is still waiting for an answer. The only one that I can give her, now, is an apology. I open my mouth to say—

"I was wrong."

What? The sticks are out of her hands, on her lap. Is _she..._ No, I realize, as Barbara continues. Whatever she means by that, she is definitely _not _apologizing.

"A long time ago," she continues, "I said to you: 'I've always trusted you, and you know I always will'. I was wrong."

Harsh words, but I cannot truly call them undeserved. _They_ have no difficulty penetrating these restraints. My _blade_, on the other hand, is only about halfway through the strap, now. I make a mental note to reexamine the tool, later. Whatever this fabric is, it might blunt the knife before it's finally severed. I try another tentative tug. No luck.

I look away. This is ridiculous. When the cowl is off, I have no problem apologizing for taking the last Boston cream doughnut at the staff meeting, or keeping one of my more... tiresome colleagues waiting in my outer office for close to an hour while I try to see whether his persistence is a match for my stonewalling. I can apologize to Alfred for beating him at chess for the fifteenth time in a row. _But when I severely hurt one of the few people whom I consider to be a close friend, one of the few people not afraid to **tell** me how I have upset her, I... belittle her. I... brush her off. I... close communications. **And I have the gall to accuse her of SULKING?**_ "Barbara," I try again.

She squeezes her eyes shut and wheels backward a few inches. I've upset her _that_ much?

"How could you do this to me?" She asks. "If this is how you treat your friends, I think I could almost switch sides." Did I inhale a lungful of Crane's fear gas somewhere along the way? Oracle as an enemy is not a laughing matter.

More to reassure myself than for any other reason, I state calmly "You don't mean that."

She opens her eyes again, and they are blazing. "You're right. I don't. Because unlike you, I don't see myself as the shadow leader of a troop of organized killers!" Instead of the escrima, she's attacking with words. Personally, I'd prefer the escrima.

"It... it wasn't supposed to be like that." Wasn't it? The goal of the plan _was_ to take control of the mob. It was incomplete when Stephanie appropriated it and set it in motion, but how _was_ I going to get the guns away from them?

Barbara's not buying it either. "Just what _was_ it supposed to be like? Benevolent dictatorship? The mobsters running Gotham and you running the mobsters? Didn't you learn _anything_ during No Man's Land?" I suppose I should count myself fortunate that she has no neighbors in this building. They'd be pounding on the door around now, the way she's shouting. "You have to keep your allies in the loop. Fighting fire with fire only makes the blaze brighter—get a hose, for crying out loud! Don't ally yourself with people who... people who consider a gun to be a logical and effective answer to most of their petty personal problems."

She hesitated for a moment, there. Something distracted her. I need her to calm down. I need to jolt her back to earth. So, I relay the intel I had to give over. "Orpheus is dead."

That checks her. "What?"

I nod, soberly. "I'd sent him a message to meet me on the Hill. Black Mask intercepted it. When I arrived, he and Zeiss were waiting for me."

She thinks for a moment. When she speaks again, her tone is almost normal. "I thought Black Mask was dead."

"So did I," I admit. "Apparently, when the mob shootings started, he had himself set up in a position to take the greatest possible advantage." The straps are starting to slacken. Another minute or two and... _what is she saying?_

"I can't, Bruce. I'm sorry. Not now. Not after what you did."

My city is burning. I've lost at least one ally tonight—permanently. Possibly another—I don't know where Stephanie is, right now—that's another matter needing my attention. But, I can't leave matters like this. Unresolved. It's not lost on me that Barbara has managed, in the course of five minutes to apologize twice, for things for which she is _not _responsible. While I...

"I need you." I need you on my side, now, because you, and Dick, and Tim, and Alfred, and Cassie were there the last time I thought I could go it alone. I was wrong. Wrong then, and wrong, now. And, this time, I don't know how to make it right. And, even if I did, right now, I don't have time to make it right. But, as much as Dick may be able to get me to open up occasionally, _you_... you, and to an extent, your father are the ones least intimidated by the costume. And I have come to rely on you to tell me when I retreat too far from the person that I should be. Now, especially now, I need _that_.

She laughs, bitterly. "You need my _systems_, Bruce. But you don't need _me_. Not really. You proved that, this afternoon. You can handle this whole city all by yourself, isn't that right?"

_No! That's not at all right!_ I want to shout it, but I need a minute to get this burning lump out of my throat. And in that minute, she's already turning the chair around.

"Close the window on your way out."

As she exits her work area, the band finally parts. I look at the mini-CD, still intact through this past ordeal, then steal down the hall after her. When she's halfway to her bedroom, I toss the CD, overhand, and it lands in her lap. Startles her, but she does a good job of hiding it as she spins back to face me.

"Analyze it," I say, hoping I'm not issuing a challenge. "It will show you how to locate and block my way into your systems." And I still, haven't apologized. Words. Empty words. Meaningless. When I revealed Tim's identity to Stephanie, I never—_but I should have. He said that there was no way that I could make things right, and I took him at his word... but my failure to try then does not absolve me of my duty to act now._ The words 'I'm sorry' are meaningless. But 'it will not happen again' that... sounds better. So I say those words. I can't face her when I say them, but I say them. From her sudden intake of breath, I know it has an effect. For an instant, I think it may be enough, but then...

"Go home, Bruce. Get some sleep. I'll try to do the same." I can't pick anything up from her tone. It may as well be her Oracle-voder. I turn around, trying to read her eyes. I can't tell unequivocally, but something seems softer. "Or don't," she adds. "Do like you always do and run yourself into the ground. Right now, it really doesn't matter to me." Her _eyes_ might be softer, but her voice more than makes up for it. I want to tell her again that she doesn't mean it, but this time, I am very much afraid that she does. I've failed. Again. I tried. But I failed. I nod acknowledgement and turn back the way I came.

"But if you contact me maybe ten hours from now," she adds, when I'm barely within earshot, "I won't terminate the link."

I look back. Strictly speaking, that's not committing her to anything beyond basic courtesy, the next time I call. I can't really blame her. I abused her trust, hijacked her systems and used them to remote-hack the police and entertainment media, then attempted to break in to her home office. As much as I wish it would, an apology and instructions on how to keep me out of her system in the future may not be sufficient. But... what else can I give her? She already knows who I am under the mask. There really isn't anything else I can offer to her as proof of how much I value our... alliance. I continue down the hall, almost not hearing when she calls my name again.

"Bruce? Just now? I lied. It _does_ matter."

As the words penetrate, I feel as if, just for a moment, a weight has been lifted. Tomorrow, I'll look at the morning paper, see the reported extent of the carnage... and probably an opinion piece lambasting costumed vigilantes smack in the middle of page three. But for tonight...

"Good night, Barbara."

Closing the window behind me, I think to myself, that at least one of us should have one. And she deserves it.


End file.
